


General Incivility

by mysterioussinkhole



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A Conspicuous Lack of Blue Lions, A little parental abuse because Duke Aegir is also a terrible father, Alternate History Fódlan, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Count Varley is a terrible father, Depression, F/F, Ferdinand would die for Bernie, Hubert is the King of bad first impressions, M/M, Manipulation, Panic Attack, Parental issues out the wazoo, Reference to torture (non-explicit), Wild assumptions, but Ferdinand has good friends who look out for him, but NOT the fun kind, just a little, other characters will appear later - Freeform, rating might go up as well?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterioussinkhole/pseuds/mysterioussinkhole
Summary: "Is not general incivility the very essence of love?"The Imperial Household is gone. The Empire is falling apart, and Ferdinand's father is pushing him to marry into wealth in order to fix his mistakes. It just so happens that a group of foreign dignitaries and their guide have taken up in a long abandoned estate not far from Enbarr. Prejudgements and pridefulness ensue.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 92





	1. Pelimanni's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to QueerlyDeparted for beta reading! Please bully me to finish this, I am notoriously slow.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any single noble in the possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a spouse. That was the hope of the Empire’s nobility, at least. For some time now, Duke Aegir had ruled as regent in the Emperor’s stead, the Imperial family having all but vanished one night nearly two decades prior. In the Imperial household’s absence the Adrestian Empire had racked up debts and hemorrhaged power, their place in international dealings steadily diminishing. The remaining noble houses conspired to marry off their heirs in profitable alliances rather than change their costly habits. As the sole legitimate heir to the ruling house, Ferdinand von Aegir had an excess of pressure upon his shoulders. His father did nothing to help alleviate the stress; on the contrary, he seemed quite intent on exacerbating the problem when possible. That morning’s breakfast was no different than the countless others before.

“I do wish you would not waste so much time riding. There are more pressing matters at hand, boy.”

Oh, and it had been such a lovely morning… The first real breath of spring suffused the air. Ferdinand heaved a sigh, “It is important to have a few joys in life, Father. You are not typically one to talk when it comes to indulgences. Pray tell, what troubles you?”

Duke Aegir’s jaw clenched in such a way that Ferdinand could see it from the other end of the table.

“Caution how you speak to me,” the Duke grit out. He took a moment to compose himself. “There is a party of foreign dignitaries coming here on holiday. You are to make yourself presentable. They no doubt will warrant our constant attention and I expect you to take full advantage of that fact.”

Ignoring the implied _ or else _ , Ferdinand felt a little thrill of genuine excitement stir within him.

“Foreign dignitaries? Where are they from? Will they be staying here?”

“The Brigidese princess wanted to ‘see the world’ or some such nonsense before she took an active role in her government and  _ apparently _ the Almyran crown prince had similar plans so they decided to travel together,” his father was generally contemptuous of decisions made by those other than himself. “And for whatever reason they wish to stay in the old Vestra estate. Something about their guide knowing the area… The whole affair has been a nightmare to coordinate on such short notice. Why the hell would anyone want to stay in that dusty old relic? Nevermind, the fact of the matter is that there are two valuable allies of marrying age coming to meet with our people. There is to be a ball tomorrow night to welcome them and I expect you to go with the others.

Ah, well at least these potential suitors would be interesting. Ferdinand had long harbored a secret wish to see more of the world, if only to better prepare himself for international relations. How the Brigidese and Almyran heirs had come to converse with such a distance between them was beyond him. Although, Brigid had gained significant power in recent history, consuming the westernmost region of the Empire along with the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. House Hevring now held the line against further attack, but they were hardly a family of warriors. It would not be unusual for two rising powers to reach out to one another. And there was to be a ball! He loved a good ball. Nearly a year had gone by since the last one he had attended. These days he found himself exhausted in his attempts to help keep the Empire together. He never felt much cause for celebration in the encroaching political crisis. A night of levity would do him well.

Smiling to himself, Ferdinand stood from the table and began to retreat to his chambers.There was research to be done and an outfit to be planned. He had been looking for an opportunity to wear his new cravat out--

“Oh, and Ferdinand? For the goddess’s sake cut your damn hair. You look like a bloody commoner.”

The door slammed shut behind him. He flinched. He did not know why the length of his hair seemed to provoke his father so, but at this point what had started as carelessness had grown into a point of personal pride. What mattered was the content of one’s character rather than their appearance. His father was unlikely to ever grasp that fact.

That afternoon, having perused the reading material in his study, Ferdinand found himself only more intrigued by their guests. Princess Petra maintained a reputation of honor and fierce intelligence, while Prince Claude had made a name for himself as a cunning tactician with a close relation to the Alliance that staved off war between the two nations. Both undoubtedly bright people. In spite of himself, he could not help but imagine marrying one of them.

His mind’s image of Petra painted her as a stern warrior with a secretly kind heart. And large biceps. In truth, he had never found himself much attracted to women but he supposed she would not be so bad to spend a life with. Claude, on the other hand… He was convinced the prince must be handsome, the way people talked about him. He probably had a charming smile and the sort of hair one could run their fingers through endlessly. Despite that, he seemed innately duplicitous.

He still could not figure out why they had chosen not to stay in Enbarr. Even in the midst of the Empire’s shifting borders the capital stood as a paragon of society in Fódlan. The Marquisate of Vestra was miniscule, and decidedly dreary if he remembered correctly. On a whim, Ferdinand decided to research the von Vestras. He could barely remember them. Just faint notions of a grim looking man who always lurked beside the emperor and a deathly pale child scarcely older than him.

The basic history of the Empire cast House Vestra in the role of Ministers of the Imperial Household for generations, but they had disappeared along with House Hresvelg in the chaotic night that had permanently altered the Adrestian Empire’s fate. The last known heir To the negligible marquisate was named Hubert von Vestra, according to official records. He would be twenty-five now. Most guessed that the lot of them were dead. That had always been what Ferdinand was led to believe. Perhaps the dignitaries fancied a haunting.

Ha, ghost butlers. Ferdinand chuckled to himself. He could not help it. He was excited

\----

The Vestra Estate lit up the hill it sat on with a dim glow. It was decidedly smaller than any other noble estate Ferdinand had encountered, but brimming with life it hardly seemed to matter. The lantern light and laughter warmed the last lingering chill of the Lone Moon. Stepping out of the carriage, Ferdinand made for the entrance without waiting for his father. A figure lingered just outside the doorway as others made their way in.

“Bernadetta! Must you wait out here?”

The young woman nearly jumped out of her skin.

“AH! Ferdinand!” she clutched his shoulder. “Don’t do that!”

“Do what? I simply--”

A solid weight crashed into him, causing him to stumble.

“Ferdie! What’s up?! Have you been inside yet?! We just got here!” strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him up in a crushing hug.

“Caspar, don’t kill the man,” Linhardt’s sleepy drawl was unmistakable, even if Caspar was currently preventing the flow of oxygen to his brain. Ever since he had hit his growth spurt Caspar had the strength of an ox and the delicacy of a cannonball. Ferdinand extricated himself as best he could.

“I have yet to go inside,” he wheezed. “But I am glad to have found you. Has Lysithea arrived?”

A sharp kick to his shin nearly buckled him.

“I’m right here! Goddess, learn some observational skills.”

Turning, he saw that Lysithea was indeed behind him. Though her House had only recently come to join the Empire thanks to the promise of increased importance within their government, he and the other heirs to the Empire had immediately adopted her as one of their own. She became as a younger sister to him, and with that came the standard sibling harassment. Ferdinand immediately ruffled her dark hair in the way he knew she hated and gave a mock bow.

“My apologies. Shall we?” he offered an arm to Bernadetta. She took it, flashing him a grateful smile.

The party was already in full swing, notable figures of the Empire milling about the ballroom and alcohol abundant. Grinning, Ferdinand swept Bernie into a waltz. The candlelight, the music, the mirth of it all… he was giddy with the sudden freedom from the constant weight of his responsibilities. His cheeks began to ache from how hard he smiled. Even Bernadetta could not help but enjoy herself.

Several songs in a hand on his collar stopped him, momentum causing him to practically toss Bernadetta into a nearby guest. “What in blazes--” he spluttered.

“You’ve neglected to dance with me, Ferdie. Simply unacceptable.”

Dorothea Arnault, diva of the Mittlefrank Opera Company, cut in with the same confidence she performed. Even as a commoner in a room full of nobility her presence commanded respect. She feared none, and for that she was Ferdinand’s dearest friend. Glancing back at Bernadetta, who actually seemed to be speaking amicably with the petite woman she had crashed into, he took her hand.

“Did their highnesses invite you?” he asked as they began to dance.

Her eyes sparkled at the mention of their hosts and gave a refined chuckle he was sure she had practiced in the mirror.

“Well I can’t say either of them were very familiar with my work but Hubert figured they would enjoy a performance during their stay, and afterwards Petra stopped me and simply insisted--”

Ferdinand froze. “Who… um. H-Hubert?”

“Oh, him,” she pointed over to a corner of the hall. He was tall, dark, gaunt. Goddess, he could make out the jut of his cheekbones from here. The man lingered on the periphery, watching the dancing and gaiety with a disinterested eye. His features were indistinct at a distance, but his dark clothes and palor reminded Ferdinand of a vampire from one of Dorothea’s operas.

“He’s been accompanying Petra and Claude on their journey. I can’t say I know very much about him. Awfully somber. I think Claude mentioned that his family owned this estate, but I can’t say I’d heard of him.”

Hubert von Vestra lived. Not only that, but he had returned to Adrestian society. Ferdinand’s head spun. What could that possibly mean?

“Ferdie,” Dorothea nudged him. “You stopped.”

“Er… Could I converse with you for a moment?”

He pulled her away into a curtained off window seat.

“That man,” he glanced furtively at the shadow glowering in the corner. “He’s Hubert von Vestra. Like retainer to the Emperor von Vestra. I-Dorothea, this is most unusual. Why is he just appearing now?”

Another glance told him Hubert was now moving in their direction. Ferdinand let out an undignified squeak and yanked the curtain closed, cutting them off from the rest of the room. Dorothea stared at him like he had grown a second head.

“Ferdie, what on Earth are you--”

“Shhhh!” he hushed her and jerked his head towards the rest of the party.

“Hubie! What are you doing off on your own? Come join us! Dance a little!” the voice was unfamiliar, gregarious and conspiratorial. “Don’t you want to enjoy the ball?”

Chancing a peek, Ferdinand caught a glimpse of the two. Up close, Hubert was somehow even more intimidating. He reminded him of a villain out of a storybook. And his eyes… they were the palest green he had ever seen, almost cat-like. His companion, on the other hand, had to be one of the handsomest men he’d had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Golden skin, artfully ruffled dark hair, intelligent green eyes, and a smile that liquified Ferdinand’s insides. There was no way he was not Prince Claude.

“Look, even Petra’s having fun,” Claude gestured out at the dance floor. Ferdinand squinted, and saw that the woman he gestured to was the one dancing with Bernie. He lurched away from the curtain and clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from cackling delightedly. Dorothea continued to stare at him as though he were possessed. He could hardly bring himself to care; Dorothea had thought worse of him before and Bernie deserved something nice for once in her life.

“Yes, the von Varley girl is rather charming,” A different voice said. Hubert’s voice. He had expected it to be deep and resonant, but instead it was soft with an odd rasp to it. It was the sort of voice that either went mostly unused or had been abused beyond all recognition.

“Ferdie you are emoting like an amateur mime. What the hell is going on?” Dorothea hissed. Ferdinand waved her off, pressing a finger to his lips pointedly.

“What about von Aegir’s son? He seems like an interesting guy. Definitely easy on the eyes.”

He couldn’t help but blush at Claude’s praise. Dorothea nudged him and gave an exaggerated wink.

“Ah, he is comely, I suppose, but not enough to tempt me. He seems rather dim for my taste. Besides, I have more pressing concerns than this sort of frivolity. I believe I am going to retire for the night. Your Highness.”

“Hubert. Don’t have too much fun with all that paperwork!”

Ferdinand slumped back into the cushioned seat, head hitting the window. The sheer audacity of the man! Ferdinand was easily the most eligible bachelor in the nation and this ghoul of a man thought him insufficient. As if he would ever desire someone so morose and tactless. And to call him dim as though he were just some empty-headed diletante. The absolute nerve!

“Are you done seething? Because I would like to return to the party at some point tonight,” Dorothea prodded him. “Wait, Ferdie. Talk to me.”

He heaved one of his more dramatic sighs. For all her jabs at him, she knew when to lay off of him. That’s what he liked about Dorothea, she refused to coddle him but never forgot that he was human.

“This man,” he huffed. “Who does he think he is? Showing up out of nowhere after years with no word, foreign nobility treating him like a dear old friend, and he has the nerve to insult me. At least I was here, Dorothea! My family has been holding this country together for decades, and regardless of my father being… himself, we have been here. We have worked to keep the Empire alive. What gives him any right to cast aspersions on me when he has done absolutely nothing of value?”

She schooled her face into a look of perfect neutrality. It was a talent of hers, obscuring sincere emotions in favor of saying the right thing.

“Ferdie, you know nothing about him. Now yes, he’s rude. And creepy looking. But you don’t know where he’s been.”

“I know enough.”

With that, Ferdinand ducked out of the alcove and back into the festivities. Skirting the ongoing dance, he approached the refreshments table and procured a drink. He was not going to let Hubert von Vestra ruin his night. As he sipped, he observed the scenery. In his rush to locate his friends and to avoid certain individuals, he had not taken the time to properly appreciate his surroundings. The house itself was rather dreary in its architecture, drab colors and out of style furnishings, but with candles and chandeliers lit it took on an unearthly sort of glow. The party goers could almost be mistaken for ghosts in the soft light. His father and the other ministers seemed to be in deep discussion with Claude, huddled together like a flock of penguins. Dorothea had moved on to flirt with one of the musicians while they played, Caspar whirled a bored looking LInhardt around in a dance that seemed to be entirely of his own invention, and off to the side of the dancers were Bernadetta and her partner, Petra. She did not look as he had imagined. Rather than a warrior, she looked like a fairy. Bernie… she smiled, arms wrapped around Petra’s neck as Petra grinned and swayed them gently. Never had Ferdinand seen her so friendly with a stranger.

And here he was, with only his wounded pride to keep him company. Well, he would swallow his bitterness for Bernie’s sake. Ferdinand could not help but be happy for her, finding someone who made her brave.

In spite of himself, he chanced a glance around for Hubert. Surely he must also be miserable if he was still around. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the shadow lingered in the stairway just outside the ballroom, glowering in the way that Ferdinand assumed must be his primary characteristic. Why would such a man choose to spend his time bothering with two apparently lovely individuals? Mystifying.

Hubert’s eyes met Ferdinand’s. He smirked. Ferdinand quickly looked away.

Later, when the party drew to a close, Ferdinand walked Bernadetta back to her carriage as always. He started doing it years ago, immediately after she first told him of her father’s monstrous treatment of her. He could not live with himself if he allowed his friend to be mistreated while he was around. So they strolled, slowly, in no real hurry to reach their destination.

“So, Bernadetta.You danced with Princess Petra for quite a bit,” he teased her. She immediately blushed scarlet, ducking her head.

“She’s very nice. And pretty. And she tells weird jokes.”

“Do you liiiiiike her?” Ferdinand leaned into her space obnoxiously. Bernie covered her face with her hands and squeaked out a yes.

“That is wonderful! And she clearly likes you back. You must tell her of your feelings at once!”

“Isn’t it… isn’t it obvious?”

“My friend,” Ferdinand sighed. “I know you well enough to see your true feelings but she does not. You do tend to shy away from other people. You must speak frankly with her.”

She shrugged, hunching her head into her shoulders like a turtle. “Alright.”

Ferdinand beamed and gingerly wrapped an arm around her. She gave a soft smile in return. Perhaps tonight had not been so unfortunate.


	2. Két Tétel

In the weeks following the ball, Ferdinand did his best to put Hubert von Vestra out of his mind. It did not prove to be an easy task. For one, his father ranted incessantly about his failure to secure Petra or Claude’s attention and the audacity of Hubert for showing his face after all these years. The man possessed all the menace of an enterprising worm, but Ferdinand still disliked his impotent rages. He disliked agreeing with him still more. His only solace remained correspondence with his friends, yet even their words began to disturb them. Lysithea wrote about tensions between her house and the Alliance who viewed them as traitors as well as the disappearance of the librarian who had worked in their house for so many years. Caspar expressed fears that were it not for the Empire’s dire straits his father may have disowned him for bearing no crest and Linhardt painted a grim picture of what should happen if Brigid or Faerghus decided to advance further into Hevring territory. But it was a letter from Bernadetta that provoked an immediate response from him.

_ Dearest Ferdinand, _

_ I think I’m in trouble. Remember how I told you about my father getting excited about Petra and I? Well, it seems what hopes I had were misplaced. Father is just the same as he always has been. I’ve been scared to visit Petra again because I’d have to ride through unfamiliar towns and stay in unknown places for a few days, and I can’t take the carriage by myself, so we’ve just been writing to each other. She can’t visit me either because of all of her diplomatic obligations. I thought that my father might understand, but… _

_ He had some of the staff grab me while I was asleep, and before I could try to get away they stuffed me in a sack. They must have tossed me into a carriage, because the next time I saw light my father was pulling me out towards the Vestra Estate and telling me to look presentable. He practically pushed me in when the door opened and left. I was so scared, Ferdie! I thought I was going to be murdered and dumped in a ditch or held for ransom! But no. My father dumped me onto Petra, and I’ve been too shaken to even to leave the room they let me stay in. I feel awful for imposing on Petra like this. It’s just that everytime I work myself up to go I remember that suffocating darkness and I panic. I keep trying, though. I really don’t want to be a bother. _

_ But Petra has been so kind to me! She’ll come to my room and play games with me or tell me stories about Brigid. Sometimes I’ll wake up and see that she’s fallen asleep next to me. Ferdinand, I don’t know what to do. Every time I see her smile, I get a feeling like fireflies are lighting up in my chest. If I had to be with anyone, I’m glad it’s her. _

_ I’ve seen less of Claude and Hubert but they’ve been nice enough. Claude is pretty funny and it seems like he’s made it his mission to make me laugh, which I pretend I haven’t noticed. Occasionally I spot he and Hubert huddled up discussing something. Sometimes out in the garden, sometimes in corners of the hall. In all honesty, Hubert scares me a little bit. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard him laugh, but it is  _ **terrifying** _. I think he might be a vampire… _

_ Hopefully I will work up the courage to return home soon. If I am even welcome there anymore. Know that I am among friends. _

_ Fondly, _

_ Bernadetta _

Ferdinand’s vision went red. Snatching up a quill, he immediately started on a response.

_ Dearest Bernadetta, _

_ To think that your father would stoop to such reprehensible tactics! I thought he had sunken to the limit of ignobility, but once again he surpasses my expectations. His behavior towards you is nothing short of deplorable and I wil _

Ferdinand’s quill snapped. He grabbed another.

_ I will not let it stand. Please notify Petra and Claude that I shall be coming posthaste to keep you company and eventually escort you back to wherever you wish. Should you desire to stay at the place in Enbarr I will gladly arrange it. _

_ I am glad that you and Petra have gotten on so well. The way she looked at you during the ball, I would not be surprised at all if she proposed marriage before she departs. I have not spoken to her as of yet, but from her description she seems an admirable woman. Perhaps even enough to be deserving of you. _

_ I should like to speak more with Prince Claude. He was rather charming, if I remember correctly. I cannot say the same for that Hubert. I have met snakes with more gravitas than that arrogant bore. It is simply terrible that he is troubling you after you have already been through so much. I shall be sure to give him a piece of my mind on the subject once I arrive. _

_ I shall be there as soon as I can. Please, take care of yourself. _

_ With Love, _

_ Ferdinand von Aegir _

The few days it took him to ride to the Vestra Estate would have been refreshing were it not for his immense worry. The spring breeze and the stars above him when he stopped for the night were of no comfort. Even Celeste’s soft snuffling as she slept nearby did nothing to calm him. Ferdinand could not rest until he knew Bernadetta was safe and happy. She had been through too much already…

The first time they met he did not see her. In fact, they did not look each other in the eye for another year. They had been introduced on opposite sides of a door by their fathers, hesitant to trust one another, but over time they grew close. During balls or conferences he would sit outside her door and wax poetic about whatever had captured his interest. The day she finally opened that door and he saw the marks of Count Varley’s abuse bruising her skin, his heart grew slightly colder and his trust grew slightly harder to earn. It weighed on him constantly that he had done so little to help her. What kind of noble was he if he could not protect his own friend, much less his people?

He arrived at the Vestra Estate as the sun began to set, and after passing Celeste off to the sole stable hand Hubert employed he strode up to the door and knocked sharply. After a moment, a maid opened the door. Ferdinand did not wait to be invited in.

“M-My lord, wait!” the maid called after him but he continued to stride down the hall, increasing his pace if anything. Damn, he had no idea where he was going. But he was going there quickly.

He heard the maid speaking to someone, “I’m sorry sir, he just burst in. I don’t know what he wants!”

There was the sound of heavy footsteps behind him as he began to ascend the stairs in the hope that the guest rooms were on the second story. A hand grabbed his shoulder rather roughly.

“Von Aegir, what the hell are you doing?” A familiar rasping voice asked him. Ferdinand batted the hand away and continued.

“I am here to comfort and aid a dear friend, as if you were not aware. How could I possibly leave Bernadetta in a house full of relative strangers terrified out of her mind?! Honestly, was my letter not enough warning that you would have to endure my presence.”

“I assure you, Ms. von Varley is fine. What letter are you even referring to? We’ve received no such thing,” He shot back at him, following Ferdinand as he began flinging random doors open.

“Bernie?! Ber-” he abruptly stumbled into an already open door. It was a cozy little bedroom with curtains drawn and two girls sitting on the bed. Bernie and Petra appeared to be engaged in some sort of card game, Petra sitting cross-legged over the covers and biting her tongue in concentration. They both snapped their heads up to see who had barged in. Bernadetta’s eyes grew wide.

“Ferdie?!” she squeaked. “You came?! I- I- Oh goddess, it’s so good to see you!”

He immediately rushed over to give her a hug. She made a noise similar to a distressed baby bird, and he immediately came away as he remembered her aversion to unexpected touching. Instead, Ferdinand sat down next to her on the bed. Hubert still lingered in the doorway looking like he’d sucked particularly hard on a lemon, but nevermind him.

“Of course I came. I could not in good conscience leave you by yourself. I explained all of this in my letter. Did you not receive it?”

“No? I don’t think…” She looked to Petra, who shook her head.

“Hey Bernie!” A voice called from down the hallway. “There’s mail for you! Looks like it’s from-”

Claude von Riegan’s lovely face appeared in the door. He did a doubletake upon seeing how many people were gathered in Bernadetta’s room. There was silence for a moment.

And then Hubert let loose a dark chuckle worthy of an insidious creature of the night. He smirked in that infuriating way of his.”I suppose patience and good sense are reserved for the common folk.”

Claude seemed to bite back a laugh, much to Ferdinand’s dismay. Petra looked curiously at them, obviously feeling like she was missing something. She caught Ferdinand’s gaze and asked, “So you will be staying with us? Am I understanding correctly?”

He exchanged glances with Bernadetta and then the two in the door before saying, “Well, if it is not too great an imposition. I only wish to keep Bernadetta company and assist her in deciding how best to move forward.”

Claude and Petra looked to each other and then to Hubert.

“It’s your house,” Claude shrugged. Ferdinand held his breath, ready to be tossed out.

“Fine. You may stay as long as you need.”

Hubert turned to go but Ferdinand saw him glance back. He gave him a slight nod in thanks. As repugnant as he found the man, this kindness could not go unacknowledged.

As it happened, Hubert quickly found ways to get back into his bad opinion. Cohabitation for extended periods does tend to breed such things. For one thing, Ferdinand could not stand the hours the man kept. He would leave for hours at a time, only to return in the dead of night. Even when he didn’t leave the house he scarcely retired before the early hours of the morning. The sound of doors opening and shutting was enough to rouse him from slumber without fail.

He also had a habit of monopolizing Claude’s time just when Ferdinand started his best attempts at flirtation.It had surprised him at first. To think that behind such a stoic exterior, Hubert possessed a wicked jealous streak. His persistence in dragging the prince off during tea or evenings by the fireplace leant itself to assumptions that Ferdinand desperately did not want to entertain. He did his best to put it out of his mind, but… Ferdinand had a sinking feeling that the two might be intimately engaged at such times. It was ludicrous, of course. His mind often ran away with him. Another reason to dislike Hubert: The man’s actions forced him to consider the image of his host naked and debauched. All of that pale skin flushed with sudden heat… How troublesome.

Such distress was easily made up for, though, by his time with Bernadetta and Petra. Bernie had an easier time leaving her room when he was there to reassure her. Admittedly, her behavior around Petra lacked much of the shyness she usually exhibited in such situations. She often joined him in learning Brigidese games from Petra.She taught them one particularly tricky game where he had to bounce a ball and grab an oddly spiked object from a pile while the ball was still in the air. It became apparent to him that Petra made things look easy. More than once the ball bounce off of his face. The sight of Bernie and Petra was enough to set aside his more competitive nature, and graciously accept his otherwise apocalyptic losing streak.

And then there was Claude… Many nights the two of them would sit up late reading books in the study, and many afternoons they swapped diatribes over tea. He made Ferdinand laugh and could talk circles around him when it came to politics. There was no denying he was lovely. But. It had been small. So small he could almost have written it off as coincidence, but he was learning the universe did not operate in such ways. Or at least, Claude did not. One evening they had been lounging about, debating back and forth over Faerghus’s treatment of Duscur, when Hubert once again came in and requested a moment alone with Claude.Yet this time Claude waved him off, saying it could wait and that he was enjoying their conversation. Such a thing would have left Ferdinand overjoyed had it not been for what he said after Hubert left the room.

“You know, I like the guy. He’s smart, dedicated. But sometimes he can be a bit of an arrogant bore.”

Two words directly from his letter to Bernadetta, which she had never opened. It was too specific an insult. Claude had read it, probably before he came to give it to her. In the grand scheme of things it was a minor transgression. However, following that moment he could not view him the same way. The way he said it so deliberately, he must have wanted Ferdinand to notice. He’d also wrote that he found Claude charming. Was this his way of flirting back?

Ferdinand wished he had never noticed. He had no idea what actually went on inside the man’s head and he was not sure he wanted to. Claude guarded himself meticulously. Ferdinand could not reconcile his behavior with his own juvenile crush, for he believed that one must live honestly.

Despite that disheartening revelation, the five of them lived amicably together. Petra enjoyed gathering everyone together for afternoon tea after Ferdinand introduced her to the practice. He had a sneaking suspicion she just liked to watch he and Hubert argue. The two of them could scarcely be in the same room without starting a disagreement. That afternoon a particularly contentious topic arose. It started with Claude saying, “Ferdie, I’ve got to tell you you’re probably one of the most accomplished nobles I’ve met.”

The compliment came following Ferdinand’s retelling of a particularly thrilling mock battle from his time at school. He responded with an inadvertent blush and a shake of his head.

“No?”

“I do have accomplishments, yes,” he shook his head. “But I find it difficult to call any one person accomplished when they are simply meeting the expectations nobility places upon them. There are talented people, of course, but the term ‘accomplished’ is so nebulous that it applies to virtually everyone. I view it as an empty classification.”

He raised an eyebrow at Claude, prompting some genuine reaction from the man. To his surprise, Hubert spoke up from his perch in the window seat.

“Perhaps you’ve just never met someone truly accomplished.” 

Ferdinand glared at him. Hubert lifted his chin in an implicit challenge. And naturally Petra chose that moment to ask, “What are you meaning by that, Hubert?”

“Well,” he gestured nonchalantly. “I believe that nobles may reach such a status, but only if they are truly exceptional. Rather than luckily born. To be truly accomplished, one must be skilled in the art of war as well as more practical ones, have a tactical mind, a pure heart, and the willpower necessary to make change in the world. They must also be diplomatic, but unwilling to compromise on their principles.”

“Ha, I would be surprised if any such person existed.”

“In truth, I have only met three such people in all my life.”

“You should count yourself lucky to know so many paragons of nobility.”

A smile, of all things, tugged at the man’s lips. It unsettled Ferdinand, making his gut seize up with some unknown emotion.

“I do,” Hubert said.

The odd atmosphere that had settled thick like fog between them lingered for a moment, before Claude cut in, “Well, I feel like a walk through the garden. Ferdie?”

He offered an arm to him. Ferdinand looked to his compatriots, but Petra and Bernie seemed absorbed in conversation with each other. Hubert looked pointedly away from. He had a working theory that the increase in Claude’s attention and in Hubert’s apparent distaste for him were connected, most likely the result of some lovers’ spat. Being forced into such a position gave him no pleasure. Nonetheless, he took the offered arm.

The von Vestras’ garden was overgrown and teeming with life, blending beyond strict boundaries like an impressionist painting. Flowers beginning to bloom in every direction, ivy climbing decaying trellises and walls, bees buzzing lazily in the afternoon sun. Part of him wanted to just lay down in the tall grass and watch clouds float across the sky. But he couldn’t, not now. Probably not ever.

“Ferdie, I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

“Oh?” The prince’s expression was unusually mirthless.

“Bernadetta’s father is dead. Died suddenly in his sleep a few nights ago. I haven’t told her yet. I figured it would be better if you were the one to do it. It’s- I’ve lived with her for a month and I still can’t predict how she’ll react. But he’s gone.”

The sudden rush of emotions created a confusing mess, flooding his mind. He could not think straight, it was all too much… and then it all coalesced into anger, sharp and clear. “How could you put me in this position?! I have no right to know this before her and you are foisting this off on me so that you do not have to deal directly with someone else’s emotions, which I thought you were better than. And not only this. Do not think I have failed to notice you and Hubert’s little game or whatever it is. I dislike being used, Claude. In the future, you should speak candidly with me or not speak at all.”

Before Claude could use that lovely silver tongue of his to charm him back into compliance, Ferdinand stomped back to the house in a huff. Despite Claude’s good intentions, the discussion had finally broken his patience with the man. Manipulation was a tool for those too cowardly to put themselves at risk. Little enraged him more. In retrospect, his anger seemed at least embarrassing, if not irrational. But swept along in the moment, he kicked a stray flower pot out of frustration only to discover it was full of rocks. A single tear sprung to his eye. He swore violently and hobbled his way back through the garden.

There in the window seat, watching him act a fool, was Hubert von Vestra. He smiled vaguely. For a singular moment Ferdinand thought about pushing the man’s hair back so he could see his entire face. Maybe it would help him understand what went on behind it.

Bernadetta took it well, all things considered. More accurately, she just… took it. She didn’t cry in front of him. She didn’t celebrate. All she did was nod and say that she wanted to go home the next day. He didn’t push her on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, I love Claude. He's my favorite character. I wrote him this way because I feel like he and Ferdinand's outlooks on life are vastly different and that contrast is interesting. Comments are always appreciated, even if it's just an "I like this". Thanks for reading!


	3. Folias Criollas

The cabinet meetings following the Count’s demise proved to be only further exercises in futility, as most of them had been for years. A young Ferdinand had hardly been able to contain his excitement when he was first allowed to sit in on their proceeding. He imagined himself brainstorming genius answers to policy issues and single-handedly saving the Empire from ruin. The reality of them proved to be less than encouraging. It always went the same way.

The ministers would take their seats around the long table with his father at the head. Someone read an itinerary, they argued back and forth for hours on end without listening to each other’s words, and then would settle upon the least effective course of action for it proved to ruffle the fewest feathers. The only true change he witnessed was the steady decrease in people at the table. They were down to just four now. House Hevring handled domestic affairs, House Ordelia took over foreign affairs after House Gerth dissolved, his father remained Prime Minister, and Minister Bergliez would hold domain over military matters until someone managed to pry it from his lifeless, stiffened clutches. With Count Varley gone, their number had once again decreased.

“Right, now to the business of selecting a new Minister of Religion,” his father cleared his throat, causing Ferdinand to inwardly cringe. “Miss von Varley has refused the position, because of course she did. This puts us at a difficult junction. Maintaining religious sites and ceremonies is… costly. We could just as easily make due without such a position when it comes to actual governance. However, if we do not have the position filled the Church of Seiros will be breathing down our necks before we so much as sign the resolution. Any perceived slight to their authority could be disastrous. To shun them in such an obvious way immediately invite conflict, even if we simply delegated tasks to the Southern Church.”

Everard von Hevring shook his head. He was a reedy man, tall and thin with a hollowed out sort of voice. He said, “Prime Minister, we do not have the luxury of picking a new official. Our financial status will not allow for us to even allot them a salary, much less fund the public spectacle the damned Central Church expects from us. Even if the Archbishop herself were to send us a recommendation I could not advise going through with it.”

“Well, it’s not as though we can afford to show that kind of weakness when the bloody  _ Holy Kingdom _ is practically knocking down your door,” Bergliez scoffed, mustache bristling. “If we don’t do something about it we’ll be a laughing stock.”

Ferdinand continued to watch the two bicker, a layer of numbness sinking into his skin. He exchanged a glance with Minister von Ordelia, who betrayed nothing of her own opinions. She too was essentially an observer. An outsider brought to the table out of necessity. Is this what they had been reduced to? His father cut in.

“Gentlemen, I have a plan that I believe may alleviate our worries.”

“Oh well, do tell.”

And for whatever reason, he looked to Ferdinand. The acknowledgment of his presence brought feeling back into him in a rush.

“I have written the Archbishop for her advice, as was customary once upon a time, and requested that she send a representative from the Knights of Seiros’s leadership. It is my intention to marry my son off to them. Should such an alliance prove favorable, it solidifies our ties with the church sufficiently to negotiate church presence in the Empire. Why should neglecting the position matter when we have already demonstrated our goodwill so thoroughly, eh?”

“No.”

It sprang from him unanticipated, startling Ferdinand. Part of him always knew his fate would be something like this but facing the reality of it stirred a primal emotion he did not recognize. His voice hardly sounded like his. He wanted… Goddess, he  _ wanted _ . To yearn, to pine, to love like the blooming of some great tree that would only strengthen over time, such simple desires that possessed him entirely in that moment. Reducing such a thing to cheap political manoeuvring left him little better than an object to trade. Against his own values of noble sacrifice, he wanted better for himself. Ferdinand’s selfish heart screamed that this was all wrong.

The ministers gawked at him. A vein pulsed in his father’s forehead.

“Gentlemen, I must ask you to excuse as my son appears to have lost his mind. We will reconvene tomorrow.”

They exchanged glances, but acquiesced without argument. Only Ordelia looked back at him. Her deep violet eyes creased in what could be sympathy. It could also be disappointment. When the door shut behind them, Duke Aegir yanked Ferdinand’s head back by his ponytail, looming over him as he gasped in pain.

“AH! What are you doing?!”

“My son, I have asked one thing of you. One. Thing.”

He wasn’t letting go. His father had little real violence in his nature, mostly bluster and empty threats. Ferdinand winced pointedly.

“I don’t know what ridiculous notions you’ve been entertaining in that thick skull of yours, but this has  _ always _ been your duty,” he still did not let go. “Listen, fuck whoever the hell you want once you’re married, but you  _ will  _ do as I tell you. Never contradict me like that again.”

“I- Please let go. I will do as you ask.”

He released him and brandished a finger in his face.

“See that you do.”

Duke Aegir left the council room with a slam of the door. Ferdinand could not move. He often became like this after a shock, frozen in anticipation of further harm and unable to  bring himself to leave the moment. He untied the bow that held his hair up and ran a shaky hand through it. A shuddering sob wrenched itself from his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t… he couldn’t…

The indignity of it all, that’s what got to him. Being pushed around like a bargaining chip, stripped of any personal agency. It made him powerless. When it came down to it, he wanted something true. Something better than what his parents had, rather than accepting the misery handed down to him. His mother had married his father for political reasons and she had languished in loneliness. Ferdinand rarely thought of her anymore, for she died when he was quite young. No one spoke about her. Her portraits were nowhere to be seen. He had decided years ago that he did not want to know how or why. The less he knew of his own future the more hopeful he could be.

It took him a bit before he drug himself to his chambers. He peeled his clothes from his body, not bothering to put them away properly, and crawled into bed. Sleep eluded him, though, even as the time ticked past a reasonable hour to go to bed. When dreams did come they tangled him in his sheets and declined to leave any imprint on his memory. He woke with nothing but the ceiling to comfort him.

\-------------------

Ferdinand's stiff military jacket made the skin at his wrists itch. The armored boots and epaulets were heavy and looked almost comically ineffective in comparison to the luxuriant reds and blues and golds of the rest of his ceremonial uniform. Tradition dictated he wear it for special occasions; let everyone see the Adrestian crest stitched into his cape. It seemed unnecessary in such circumstances when in the past full regalia was reserved for coronations, weddings, and monumental shifts in the status quo. His father preferred that they dress for any public appearances. It gave them a sense of legitimacy, in his mind. Political upheaval often led to an overemphasis on tradition, from what he could extrapolate from his historical texts, for people needed their change tempered with familiarity. Every step forward depended on how many steps you were willing to take back. He exhaled heavily.

The remaining vestiges of Adrestian nobility stood in Enbarr’s main square waiting to welcome Ferdinand’s future spouse and whomever else the church deigned to send. The ministers chatted amongst themselves while townsfolk began to gather in order to watch the proceedings. Meanwhile, Caspar, Linhardt, and Lysithea seemed to have taken it upon themselves to raise his spirits, which currently lay at the center of the Earth. They meant well. Caspar boasting that he could easily beat Lysithea in a fight while Lysithea and Linhardt made skeptical noises, Linhardt telling him about his latest theory as to how the crests of the saints were passed if they bore no children, it was all very sweet but they could not rescue him from the inevitable. Part of him wished for the summer days when they would swim in the great fountain at the center of the square, splashing and shrieking like any other children. Such carefree times. Now they carried  the weight of an empire on their shoulders. He could not blame Bernadetta for declining to attend, even if he was growing concerned for her general wellbeing.

A cry from amongst the townspeople drew his attention to the dot on the horizon. It grew closer. Ferdinand felt Lysithea grab his hand, squeezing. He squeezed back in thanks. The flying carriage took on detail as it came closer. The exterior was covered in an intricate filigree of gold, twisting into crest symbols and blooming flowers, more a work of art than a practical mode of transportation. The pegasi pulling it were of the purest white. People could not help but be transfixed by the sight of it, which was by design. The Church of Seiros held Fodlan in the palm of its hand, never having to grip tighter because they inspired inescapable awe. To defy them, this carriage said, would be to defy divinity. It landed on the cobblestone with hardly a sound.

Ferdinand held his breath. Whoever came out of there would be his future. Did he dare hope for someone who would immediately steal his heart, or simply pray for someone he would not despise. He tried to envision the kind of person he should like to marry. Tall, dark, and handsome, obviously, with a razor wit to constantly keep him on his toes, but also with a hidden tenderness that only Ferdinand was allowed to see. Someone strong and principled. Someone undeniably  _ good _ .

The carriage door opened and a young woman stumbled out, red-haired with tan skin and well-toned muscles. She took a moment to steady herself before seeming to remember the situation and hastily assumed a bow. Behind her, came the unexpected form of the Archbishop. Her presence swept over the crowd like a wave as they all bowed in deference, himself included, though he did sneak glances at her. Lady Rhea remained the same, even after so many years in power. She appeared young in most conventional ways but her eyes held something immeasurably old. An aura of inhumanity hovered around her. She simply gave a nod in their direction to bid them to rise. Ferdinand’s father nudged him forward.

“On behalf of the Adrestian Empire,” his voice shook slightly. “I am pleased to welcome you. I am Ferdinand von Aegir. And you are?”

The girl straightened up and stuck out a hand.

“Leonie Pinelli, Knight of Seiros, Lieutenant to Captain Jeralt.”

He gingerly took the offered hand, only to have his arm nearly wrenched out of its socket with the force of Leonie’s handshake.

“Charmed,” he wheezed. “I trust the trip from Faerghus was pleasant. No difficulties on the way here?”

“Not really. I’m not a big fan of flying when I’m not the one driving, but it wasn’t so bad. Lady Rhea decided to join me, so it definitely wasn’t boring. Um. Do you have training grounds at the palace?”

“Of course.”

“Great. You owe me a sparring match.”

Ferdinand would come to regret telling her about the training grounds, as most of their interaction wound up taking place there. While his father and the Archbishop haggled over policies behind closed doors, he essentially wound up following Leonie around like a lemming. She preferred a lance and a horse on the battlefield just as he did, but where he was reckless in pursuit of victory she was reserved, tensely coiled and waiting for an opening. For every one time he beat her, she destroyed him thrice, to the delight of the Imperial guard who also practiced there. Despite the evident common ground, he could get nowhere in conversation with her for it always circled back around to:

“Captain Jeralt taught me everything I know when it comes to tactics! He’s practically a genius when it comes to that sort of thing. He taught me how to ride a horse, how to hold a lance, everything. I wouldn’t be who I am today without his help.”

Leonie never failed to attribute her own success at least in part to said Knight Captain. It began to frustrate him. That and her neverending frugality. It certainly was not a bad quality to have, but surely there was room for some comfort in life, wasn’t there? She never let herself want things or claim what should be her due. Leonie felt that the world owed her nothing in return for her service. It probably stemmed from her humble upbringing. Oftentimes he could feel the cogs turning in her mind as she thought about streamlining palace operations and eliminating waste. Perhaps they could take her on as a treasurer rather than pushing the two of them together. Really, he had no problem marrying a commoner. That only meant she had fought harder for her place at the table. What he did struggle with was her as a whole.

In all honesty, she was hardly a bad person. Leonie exuded bravery and loyalty to such a degree that she immediately earned the respect of those who met her. And yet… and yet. He did not love her. He did not think he could, at least in the way he would like to love the person he married. Ferdinand wasn’t attracted to her, had no warm feeling when they spoke, could not imagine himself spending a lazy day curled up in bed beside her. It ate at him that he could not bring himself to accept this one simple thing. Could he call himself a true noble if he was unwilling to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of his people?

Most evenings they had dinner together and then sat awkwardly in his study discussing trivial things. Seeking their ever-elusive connection, beating dead horses and other such futile devices. The routine of it suffocated him. Eventually, he could no longer bring himself to show up to dinner and instead formed a habit of slipping out through one of the secret passages within the castle walls to sit in the square and partake in the Sunset Market.

A tradition that reached back to the Empire’s inception, the Sunset Market was a collection of vendors from all over who gathered in the main square to sell wares that they had not cleared out during the day for significantly lower prices. Mostly they were foreign merchants about to depart or bakers and chefs who did not want their work to go to waste, but occasionally other artisans came to offer their goods purely for the sake of sharing. It never failed to fill him with pride. People had such a capacity for generosity, if only they indulged it once in awhile.

That evening Ferdinand purchased a cream-filled pastry and settled on the edge of the fountain to watch people mill about. He was just biting into when he felt someone sit down beside him. The slight distraction proved disastrous, smearing cream on his face as he missed his mouth. And by the goddess, a side glance revealed this person to be the Archbishop. Hastily wiping his mouth, he gave a half bow.

“Lady Rhea! Ah, what brings you here tonight?”

She smiled serenely.

“Most likely the same thing that brings _you_ here,” she paused, letting her words settle before continuing. “It’s beautiful, is it not? Giving what one can so that others may appreciate it.”

The setting sun bathed the square in a dull pink glow, giving it all the look of a faerie gathering that at most moments remained invisible but in the twilight revealed itself to the unsuspecting traveller.

“It is.”

Another pause. Lady Rhea asides much in her moments of silence as she did in her sentences, like sheet music. The breaks between phrases were by design.

“I know you have reservations about this arrangement, Ferdinand. It is as plain as the nose on your face. But the fact remains that you will marry Leonie. You will foster goodwill between your waning empire and the goddess’s chosen, and in doing so you will bring great prosperity and security to the people who look to you for such things.”

He sighed and hung his head.

“I have been telling myself the same things, my lady. However, I fear I am a hopeless romantic, despite my best intentions. Is… is marriage that necessary? Leonie regards it no more kindly than I do, that much is obvious. Could we not reach some diplomatic agreement with regards to church presence in the Empire? Because I have had a few thoughts on the subject, and-”

She raised a hand to cut him off. His mouth closed nearly of its own accord.

“What is it you think I have been discussing with your father and his lackeys day and night?” she shook her head. “Your youth will be your undoing if you do not learn to temper your impulses. Everywhere I look, Ferdinand, there are young men who are burning the world because they believe they know how best to fix it.”

That piqued his interest. Ferdinand angled himself closer to her and whispered conspiratorially, “Archbishop, what do you mean?  _ Who  _ do you mean?”

Lady Rhea stared straight ahead, giving no outward indication of the importance of her words.

“You know of young King Dimitri in Faerghus. I have advised him often after our relocation to Sacred Gwenhwyvar. He is a polite young man, restrained, but I can sense a great rage within him that threatens to subsume Fodlan should he ever find cause to unleash it. Then there is that boy Holst Goneril, practically begging for a fight with Almyra in order to prove himself worthy of leading the Alliance. Meanwhile, Gloucester and his son sit back and laugh at him. The Almyran prince, Claude, he uses his influence to snare anyone he perceives as an enemy in a web of lies and subterfuge. And I hear he has that infernal boy whispering in his ear as he parades across the continent… No doubt he was the one who murdered Count Varley.”

Ferdinand’s blood froze.

“Count Varley was murdered? By Hubert?” the thought twisted his stomach.

Rhea nodded gravely.

“Undoubtedly; Hubert von Vestra is the worst of all of them. And I’m afraid his story is quite bleak. It has taken years of investigation to decipher how exactly events took place, but I believe that seventeen years ago the Hresvelgs were captured, tortured, and slaughtered by Lord Arundel, the Emperor’s brother-in-law. We found what pieces remained of them when Faerghus took Arundel. None of them survived, not even Arundel's own sister. We also found documents that suggest Hubert and his parents were taken as well. Only Hubert lived. We found him crouched in a corner of Arundel's laboratory, a skinny, pale little thing covered in the blood of his captor. His first kill.

“We allowed him to live at Garreg Mach for the time being. The experience had driven him quite mad and returning him to the Empire would have only worsened his condition. Barely thirteen and already party to such horrors. The things he must have seen…

“Two years we housed him, fed him, treated him as our own. Seteth even wanted to offer him a place in the Officer’s Academy. All the love we gave him, and still he betrayed us. It started with disappearances amongst the staff. Experiments, most likely. Then a dreadful illness that swept through the students. He is exceptionally gifted in dark magic and poison is second-nature to him. No doubt that is how he killed Count Varley. I have no proof, but his presence here all but confirms it. After that, he set off an explosion that ruptured the cathedral’s ceiling. Thankfully no one was hurt, but it caused immense concern. We did not want to believe it was his work, but all signs pointed to him. We blinded ourselves to the darkness festering inside of him. Do you know why we no longer use Garreg Mach as the headquarters for the Central Church?”

“There was a fire…”

“Yes. There was. The final step in his siege. It burned hot enough to melt the glass from the window panes… Sometimes I imagine I can still feel the heat of it on my face. He came to me that night, as the fire had just begun to spread. He said that this land no longer welcomed us and we were being punished for our crimes. What crimes he must have invented in his demented head, I could not tell you. The wild look in his eyes as the monastery burned will never leave my nightmares. It’s a wonder that he did not kill me before I managed to escape.

“I have done my best to keep eyes on him, to contain him, even if I cannot best him. He is too clever for that. I catch wind of him and his other transgressions every now and then, but never so concrete as this tour with the young nobles. It’s almost like he is daring me to challenge him. In truth, I pity him. So desperate for acknowledgment when he could have had it if he only let us in."

Silence hung heavily when she had finished. Ferdinand’s head felt as though a belt had been wrapped around it that was slowly being cinched tighter. He disliked Hubert, yes, but to think him capable of this remained altogether different. The absolute scoundrel.

“But then how can you let him walk free?! Knowing that he has done such evil in the world, he must be stopped!” he fought to keep his voice down. The thought stoked a deep, burning anger within his heart.

“It is not so simple, Ferdinand,” Rhea said. “His survival tells of a deep corruption within the Empire, that if brought to light could cause chaos. That, and he has made some very powerful friends. He wrote me a letter not a year ago where he rambled on about how the goddess had allowed the death of everyone he held dear, so he must exact revenge on those the goddess holds dear. Should I try to stop him, he said, the forces of Almyra and Brigid and some other source he only alluded to would not hesitate to support him. Hubert is obviously deeply disturbed but I do not doubt his claims. His threats are never empty. The best we can hope for is to keep him contained.”

“How many has he killed?” Ferdinand swallowed around the words.

A pause. The fountain gurgled. Townspeople murmured to one another.

“Far too many,” she turned to gaze at him with those ancient eyes of hers. “Please do not count yourself among the men setting fire to the world, Ferdinand. Do what must be done. Sacrifice for the greater good that lies outside your own self-interest.”

With that commandment left to guide him, she stood and surveyed the market.

“I believe your father wishes to throw a ball while we are here. It would be as good a time as any. Do not let us down.”

Rhea did not walk so much as drift away from him, the tassels and ornaments of her headpiece jingling as she went. The people looked to her with reverence, almost as though the goddess walked again through her. A bewildering woman. A compassionate one, as well.

Once more, Ferdinand found himself unable to move from where he sat, rent apart by the struggles within his own head. He had lived in the same house as a murderer. He had argued with him and disrupted his romantic endeavors. Goddess, Hubert von Vestra… vexatious, snide, arrogant Hubert had all but destroyed Garreg Mach, watched the people he cared for most be slaughtered, and slaughtered innocents himself in turn. If Petra and Claude were invited to the ball, which they would be, he would come as well. Fuck. He could not face him with Lady Rhea’s level of composure. He was liable to tackle him on first sight. Such loathsome deeds. Such an unbothered face.

He sat by the fountain as the market closed, the sun left the sky, and the stars began to traverse their paths overhead. Ferdinand could do nothing but watch.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me awhile because I wanted to get it right, which led to me having to readjust my outline. Your comments are all so sweet and I appreciate them so much. Coming soon: A ball, a proposal, and The Most Awkward Dance of All Time.


	4. Fantasia on Greensleeves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some anxiety and depression! Also, the next chapter will probably take a bit longer than usual because I'm focusing on a short story contest. Your patience is appreciated!

He could hear the musicians tuning up distantly, faint echoes bouncing throughout the palace. The time grew near to go downstairs and begin the festivities.

“Hold still, Ferdie. It needs to be just so. Honestly, Dorothea will you get him to behave?” Lorenz fussed over his hair like an overgrown purple hummingbird, while Dorothea rolled her eyes and continued sifting through Ferdinand’s jewelry box. Having both of his friends present did enough to calm his nerves for the moment. He was expected to propose to Leonie tonight in front of the goddess and everyone, and commit himself to a loveless marriage that neither party seemed to want. His father and Lady Rhea had been very clear on that. When he had written to each of them about the ball and his apprehension they both insisted upon keeping him company. Neither particularly liked the other, Dorothea despising Lorenz’s entitlement and Lorenz finding Dorothea lacking in decorum, but they were of the same mind where he was concerned.

Dorothea came closer, clasping a tight choker around his neck. The sting of cool metal sent a shudder through him. She gave him an appraising glance.

“It needs something else.”

Lorenz peeked out from behind his head, fingers still working his hair into a complicated braid, and nodded.

“Something in his hair, you think?”

“Definitely. Perhaps… Ooo, the laurels!”

“ _ Yes _ .”

Ferdinand groaned, “Must I? They make me look so imperious.”

“Well, that’s rather the point, dear,” Dorothea replied as she went for the box. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of fingers combing through his hair. It tingled slightly. A minute or so later, Lorenz hummed in satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he heard Dorothea say. “Take a look, darling.”

Obediently, he forced his eyes open and turned to look in the mirror, swallowing hard.

Ferdinand’s one victory in this whole affair was convincing his father to let him plan the ball. None of the ministers cared much for youthful frivolity beyond their own separate indiscretions, so his choices went largely unexamined. Thus, he had raised up a relic from Adrestian antiquity that had died off everywhere but the Officer’s Academy at Sacred Gwenhwyvar: The Dance. An event so auspicious it warranted sole claim of its name. Guests and host alike all wore dancing costumes like the ones from the Empire’s golden age and made such merriment that the air itself seemed suffused with magic, the kind that spurred one on past fatigue, past worry, past all care for the mortal world. In his youth, he hid his hopes of becoming a dancer deep within his heart. It would not do for the heir to the Prime Minister to be anything but a warrior on the front lines of battle. Magic and the like were for lesser individuals. Yes, he did win the White Heron Cup while attending the Officer’s Academy. But Ferdinand the Dancer never saw the light of day beyond that one glorious night. To see himself grown and dressed like he had once dreamed… it nearly overwhelmed him.

The toga draped almost artfully around his body. He’d forgone the typical undertunic and let the red cloth only partially cover his bare chest. Golden bands encircled his arms, his exposed thigh, his throat, and a golden half circlet made to look like a laurel wreath perched on his head. His own image surprised him. He looked inhuman. Statuesque. He moved slightly, just to make sure it was truly his reflection. Beside him stood Dorothea and Lorenz, dressed similarly and just as ethereal.

“I- Thank you. Truly,” he said softly and turned to meet his friends’ eyes. “I do not think I would be able to make it through this night were you not here.”

Dorothea’s smile faltered for a moment. Lorenz put an arm around his shoulders. They did not want to acknowledge that this was a last hurrah rather than a true celebration, because that meant they would have to decide whether or not they felt sorry for him.

_ Well, to hell with pity! _ he thought.  _ Now is the time to be merry! _

\---------------

Magical lights shone bright from the chandeliers, casting irregular patches of shadow and illumination throughout the ballroom. The marble gleamed and luminescent veins glinted from every surface. The room had never felt so alive as it did then, like a twilit forest teeming with all manner of fae creatures and him at the center of his own summer court. Ferdinand was drunk on both the atmosphere and a fair amount of champagne as he twirled for his partner, a particularly handsome member of the imperial guard, giddy laughter bubbling up unexpectedly. He’d danced with everyone; Dorothea, Lorenz, Bernadetta, Lysithea, Claude, Petra, Linhardt, Caspar, and even Leonie, who disappeared into the periphery of the ballroom moments after. The momentum propelled him through any lingering trepidation. He felt like a force of nature, a forest fire burning too bright to look at directly. That feeling singing through him must be magic. Though, that could be the drinks talking.

“Whoa, careful now,” Lorenz caught him before he crashed into a pillar. Ferdiand saw no other option but to sling his arms around him.

“Lorenz, this is… the best night. ‘m so  _ happy _ . But. I do have an issue. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and it’s definitely a problem,” he enunciated as best he could. Lorenz at least had the common courtesy to hide his bemused grin.

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“I’ve never- ah,” Ferdinand attempted to keep his voice down. “I’ve never… made love… to someone. And I don’t think I’m ever going to. And I want to. Really bad.”

“Er, Ferdie- ”

“‘Coz Leonie and I? Nope. I bore her and she’s not… she’s not a man, Lorenz. But ‘m not gonna be an adulter- adultererer ‘coz that’s what my father does and I don’t wanna do that, yeah?”

“Ferdinand- “

“So I’m like ‘maybe I meet a pretty man tonight an’ have really good sex one time before I die’ but where’s the romance in that, Lorenz? Where’s the bloody romance? I’ll die unfucked, Lorenz.”

“Ahem,” someone behind him cleared his throat. Ferdinand whipped around, hastily trying to regain his composure, only to freeze in shock when he saw that standing before him was Hubert von Vestra.

He stood out amongst all of the people in white and various muted colors for he was clothed completely in black, the pale expanse of his skin contrasting sharply. A high flush colored his cheeks.

“I… erm,” he looked away so that his hair obscured his face. “I came to… that is, would you want to dance? With me, I mean.”

Ferdinand’s heart stuttered. Hubert offered a gloved hand to him. Behind him, Lorenz gave him a slight nudge forward. He envied his friend’s ignorance of the situation’s true weight, for unbeknownst to him those gloves hid bloodstains that no amount of scrubbing could wash away. In a setting like this, Hubert would have to be mad to try anything remotely sinister. Accepting or declining did not appear to have any attached consequences.

It could have been a lot of things that made him say yes. It could have been fear or recklessness or a bit too much to drink, but none of those things convinced him. It was curiosity.

This baffling man offered no answers, only questions. He was a puzzle box that Ferdinand could never bring himself to put down, for perhaps it would be his next fiddling attempt that solved everything. In spite of himself, he wanted to know everything about him. He wanted to take him apart and find what lay at his center.

So he said, “Yes.”

And Hubert smiled.

He took him by the hand and led him away from the periphery and under the shadow of one of the chandeliers, almost blooming in the dimness. An arm looped around his waist. The cool leather of his gloves raised goosebumps on Ferdinand’s skin as they skimmed beneath his toga to rest on bare skin.  _ This was a terrible idea. He could have a knife hidden in there, goddess knows he’s not wearing them for fashion. _

He swallowed his nerves allowed Hubert to lead him along to the meandering music. In truth, he danced adequately. Not talented by any stretch, but not horrible. He swept him across the floor as Ferdinand gave himself over once more to that burning momentum.

“You dance well,” Hubert murmured into his ear, startling Ferdinand out of his reverie.

“I- I suppose. Dancing’s always been a pastime of mine,” he tried to concentrate on not slurring his words. “You’re not bad yourself.”

“Hmm.”

Hubert was oddly reticent. Ferdinand had never known him to be quiet, much less polite. It took a few moments before he made another attempt at conversation.

“Do you not wished to be married?”

Ferdinand spluttered, “What?! Why would you ask such a- Oh. Yes. Well, I’d love to be married, just not… like this. I wanna do my own choosing. But I can’t exactly fight Lady Rhea on it. They’d have my head.”

At the mention of the Archbishop, his partner’s pupils constricted and he hissed, “And where is dear Lady Rhea? Not here to look upon her good works?”

“Most likely, she’s avoiding you. She told me all about you,  _ Hubert _ .”

Hubert’s grip on him tightened.

“Do not trust one word out of that woman’s mouth,” he said darkly. “She has no care for the lives of others.”

“Oh yes, because you’re so trustworthy. I know you. Intimera- ah,” Ferdinand attempted to pass off his mistake as breathlessness. “Intimately. I see you for what you are.”

Silence fell between them as they swayed to the music, that same intoxicating melody carrying them on. Hubert still held him close. Ferdinand tried to hold his gaze in a kind of challenge, but the infuriating man hid all signs of annoyance flawlessly. Instead, his own hopes to disassemble his partner and examine each intricate part were returned in full if his expression was anything to go by. A feeling like the cave in of a sinkhole but… warmer, somehow, stirred within him.

When the song came to a close, Hubert did not let go of him. The pale line of his throat worked over words that never made it out of his mouth.

“Well. Thank you for the dance, Hubert. Have a good night.”

“You… You as well, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand turned to go find refuge with a friend, preferably Dorothea (she always knew what to do with these sorts of situations), but had to fight the sudden urge to look back over his shoulder. He didn’t, but it was a near thing.

Dorothea stood off in a corner near the door leading out into the hall, commiserating with Leonie of all people. He knew that they had become acquainted when he took Leonie to the opera but of all people to become fast friends he never would have expected this particular pairing. He called out to get their attention. Dorothea glance in his direction and proceeded to  _ wave him away _ .

She didn’t want to talk to him? But… he needed her. Things were so confusing all of a sudden and he needed her to make things make sense. He felt entirely too drunk to process complex emotions on his own, so he sighed heavily. An open invitation for sage advice. Someone tugged at his toga. Ferdinand whipped around to nearly smack into Bernadetta, adorable in her own dancer’s costume.

“Bernie, dear, d’you have to stand so close?” he patted her head absentmindedly. “How’s your night been? Good?”

“Y- Yeah,” she glanced out at the people dancing.

“Been talking to Petra?”

Bernie chuckled as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, quickly tapering off. She had a new solemnity about her ever since her father died. Not that she was particularly cheerful to begin with, but the loss had made her quieter. World-weary, rather than a bundle of nervous energy. He continued trying to amuse her.

“You would not believe the night I am having. I danced with Hubert, Bernie.  _ Hubert _ . And Dorothea won’t talk to me for some reason and- Are you alright?” Bernadetta sniffled, tears welling up in her eyes. “Dear, what’s wrong?”

“I just… what happens when she leaves? A- Am I gonna be alone? I can’t… I don’t wanna be on my own, Ferdie,” she clutched at his toga and buried her face in his shoulder. Her sudden distress jolted him out of his careless wandering and he quickly ushered her out into the hallway. The dimmed noise and low lights fell over them like a comforting blanket, protecting them from the overwhelming stimulation of the ballroom.

“What’s brought this on?” Ferdinand held her close. She inhaled shakily.

“He s-said they were leaving soon. They’re going to Faerghus. And I can’t go with them. I… I love her  _ so much _ , and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wait, who said this? When are they leaving?”

“Hubert. He says they’re leaving tomorrow.”

Oh. Several feelings surged up, indistinguishable but achingly present, within him. He tried to isolate them, identify them, but was swept away in their current all the same.

“Did Petra not tell you?”

At that question, Bernadetta began to sob in earnest. It was not often Ferdinand felt murderous, but in that moment he yearned for a neck to snap. He had worked so hard to make this night into something worth remembering, but no matter how hard he pushed against it, the future came all the same.

“Bernie, I’m so sorry,” he whispered numbly. “I… I suppose I have something I need to do. Will you stay the night? You and the others? I’d like to be together to get through all of this.”

She nodded into his chest and slowly eased her grip on him. Steeling himself, Ferdinand stepped back into the ballroom. The laughter and music seemed almost ghoulish now. An artifice. He made for Dorothea and Leonie once more, only to find them no longer where he left them. A quick scan of the room gave him no sign of either of them. Swallowing conspicuously, he dashed over to where the musicians sat, now playing an aggressive jig. He waved frantically to get them to stop. Eventually they did, though not as soon as he would have liked given the time it gave him to rethink his course of action.

The sudden quiet drew everyone’s eyes to him. Most of them had an inkling of what was coming for gossip traveled fast in the Empire, and thus quieted so that his voice could be heard throughout the hall. He plastered a false grin across his face and began, “Esteemed Guests! Thank you for coming tonight! I trust your nights’ve been as nice as mine?” Cheers came in response. “Great. Now, I’ve something important to say. This past month I’ve come to know Leonie Pinelli of the Knights of Seiros quite well. And she’s lovely. Great person. So…”

Now or never. He took a knee, careful not to reveal too much of himself, and called out, “Leonie, will you marry me?”

Absolute silence. The guests glanced around to see her reaction, only to find her nowhere in sight.

“Leonie?”

A hand yanked him up to a standing position as the crowd began to whisper. He found himself being pulled back out into the hallway by Dorothea. Ferdinand started.

“Dorothea, what- ?”

“You couldn’t have waited five more minutes?! It’ll be a miracle if she’s even out of Enbarr by now!”

“What’re you talking about?! She was right there minutes ago, talking to you!” he jabbed a finger in the direction of the ballroom, which gave off a steadily rising din. Bernadetta, still waiting for him, looked between the two of them with her eyes wide. He wasn’t sure if it was simple drunken slowness but Ferdinand felt that he was missing crucial information.

Dorothea shook her head and eased his arm down.

“Leonie… You know she doesn’t want this any more than you do. We talked and… I convinced her to go. I told her to take a pegasus and go back to Faerghus, and…” she hesitated.

“And what, Dorothea?!”

Her eyes hardened to steel.

“And wait for me to meet her. We’re running off together. Have you really not noticed the amount of time we spend together? I figured the church wouldn’t retaliate if you all suffered some embarrassment and… honestly, I’d prefer it if she didn’t have to marry you not just out of concern for you. The point is that she and I care for each other and I have no desire to see either of you condemned to a life of misery.”

“THAT’S NOT-” he quickly quieted himself when Bernadetta flinched, instead hissing, “That is not the  _ point _ . What I want is secondry to the Empire. I have to do what’s best for the people. Leonie too. How could risk all of that on the slim chance that this plan didn’t fuck us all over? How could you be so selfish?!”

“ _ Me _ , selfish? Look in the fucking mirror, Ferdie. This whole night is you throwing a pity party for yourself. You never even considered how she might feel-”

“Of course I did!”

“Do  **not** interrupt me, Ferdinand von Aegir. I am trying to help both of you find happiness. If you cannot see that, I fear for you. Leonie makes me happy, and I hope I do the same for her. Take this chance. Let yourself do what you think is right, not what everyone else thinks.”

Bernadetta stepped between them, looking from one to the other. He regretted any part he had in her distress but this was too important to set aside, even for her sake.

“Dorothea,” Ferdinand restrained his urge to yell once more. “Doing this could upset our understanding with the Church. It could  _ cripple _ us. I- This was a necessary sacrifice we were making. You can’t- I-”

As his breathing came harder, panic engulfed him. This would be his end before he ever took over for his father, for no one would ever forget how badly he had failed at something so simple as an arranged marriage. Was he such a terrible fate to accept? Should he be feeling as relieved as he did? He could feel himself hyperventilating, but his thoughts would not stop racing. Guilt. Embarrassment. Shame. Panic. The edges of his vision grew dim. The last image he saw before completely losing consciousness was his two dearest friends looking down at him from above.

\-----------

When he woke up, his room was cast in the dull glow of sunset. A numbness settled in Ferdinand’s bones. Though awake and aware, he lay there watching his ceiling grow dark, feeling the texture of his sheets. He did not get out of bed the next morning or the morning after, despite the best efforts of the palace staff. The healers called it acute depressive hysteria. He told them to draw the curtains and let him rest in peace.

What had he done wrong? How could he fix this? He wanted Leonie, and by extension Dorothea, to be happy and have the life they desired. He wanted the Empire to survive and thrive once more. They appeared mutually exclusive. The damage had been done.

A knock came at the door.

“Ferdie? You gonna come out soon?”

“This is not the way to deal with fail-”

“Lin! Not what he needs to hear right now!”

“Well, it’s not.”

“Is it alright if we come inside…? W- We’re gonna come in, ok?”

He made a noncommittal noise as the door burst open and the four figures of Linhardt, Caspar, Lysithea, and Bernadetta entered. Caspar immediately went to yank the curtains open, light streaming in and searing Ferdinand’s eyes. Lysithea tugged his sheets away and started to haul him out of bed by his arms, while Linhardt settled in his desk chair with a book and Bernadetta stood fidgeting at the foot of his bed.

“C’mon, get out of bed. You are useless,” Lysithea gave another mighty tug. “Indisposed. It is  _ time _ to be  _ productive _ .”

Ferdinand gave a weak flail in protest. Bernie frowned.

“This isn’t good, Ferdie. You need to pull yourself together, take a bath, ride a horse, d-do  _ something _ , y’know? We’re not gonna let you waste away over this. Caspar, can you help Lysithea?”

“ _ I’ve got it! _ ”

“Sure you do, short stuff. Up you go.”

Strong arms hoisted him up in a fireman’s carry and Ferdinand allowed himself to be carried to the bathroom. The following hours involved freezing cold water being dumped over his head, apple tarts, scavenger hunts for specific books in the far reaches of the library, accidental pantsing, and a return to the antics they pulled when they were young. They went out of their way to keep him occupied, which he was profoundly grateful for. He shuddered to think what would have happened had they not been there.

That evening they all piled into his bed, now much too big to all fit properly, but it was the principal of the thing. Linhardt and Caspar curled up together and dropped off to sleep almost immediately with Bernadetta not far behind.

Ferdinand looked at his friend, really looked, and marvelled at how they had grown. All of them older, wiser, more weary, but still unfailingly kind. He loved them as his own family. But nevertheless, he worried about the future to come.

“Ferdinand,” Lysithea whispered so as not to wake the others.

“Yes?”

“You can’t do that again. We were all quite worried and we need you to be you. They look up to you. You are always so certain about what needs to be done. If you’re unsure of what to do…”

“I am here. I am- I am trying. And I am scared to do the wrong thing. Is everyone alright, what with,” he gestured vaguely. Lysithea looked to Bernadetta and sighed, “Petra and the others left while you were sleeping without much preamble. She misses her, obviously, but it feels worse than that. She won’t talk to me about it. The situation with the Church is complicated, based on what my mother has disclosed. We seem to be safe for now but our relationship is definitely precarious. Lady Rhea isn’t happy. I was actually talking to her when someone told her what happened. She is terrifying when she’s angry. I would never want to have that rage turned on me.”

“Why were you talking to the Archbishop?”

Lysithea grew defensive at his probing, “I wanted to learn about how the Church formed its position on Crests. She had some unique insights…”

“Oh, I am sure. And Dorothea, how does she fare?”

“The opera company fired her when she said she intended to leave for Faerghus. They keep calling it a scandal, but the last time I saw her she looked more content than I can ever remember,” she paused in thought for a moment. “You should write to her.”

He should. She was his best friend. He could never live his life without her in it. Her betrayal of his trust still stung, but he was beginning to understand. He was doing his best to understand.

He cupped his hand around the candle on the bedside table and blew it out.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to QueerlyDeparted for beta reading! Please bully me to finish this, I am notoriously slow.


End file.
